My Favorite Nothing
by ComfortInEmptiness
Summary: AU:My fingers gently kiss the piano keys; the felt hammers rebounds allowing the strings to vibrate at their resonant frequency. Sheet notes nowhere in site – simply played what I felt at the time. My eyes closed, body swayed, the orchestrated sound slams against the wall bouncing back filling the room...[updated 10/25]


**A/N: I own nothing. Will post as much as time allows me... as long as you guys enjoy this. I'll only know that you like it with reviews and such. Don't have a beta - mistakes are mine and I wear them proudly. **

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**Maura**

_Never met her before_  
_But, I think I like her like a metaphor_  
_It's hard to get_

Jane – confident as she stood on the elevated platform. Her smooth skin illuminated by the candles placed strategically around the small night club. She wore a pair of light blue fitted jeans – an addidas track jacket tied loosely around her waist – a sterling silver butterfly winked at me as it sat comfortably on her navel – a yellow t-shirt stopped inches above her belly button. The clothes weren't anything incredible but, still it showed off her feminine curves. Coal black hair decorated the top of her head. No particular hair style it was just – there. I watched as she closed her eyes, possibly picturing the verbs and adjectives spewing from her mouth. Creating the image of the words running though the crevices of her lips. Her accent was a mixture of a southern drawl and something else; I couldn't quite place my finger on it. I continue to admire her as she performs. Get lost in every syllable and monosyllable. Trample on every synonym and noun.

Her words soothes me – takes me to an ethereal place. Allows me to place my flawed life inside of a bag and push it to the depths of my memory bank. Bury my burdens. As if each word has fingers – they begin to caress my shoulders, kneading the anxiety from my body. Lifts the stress and throws it into a pile off to the side. Pushes aside my reality and brings forth the fantasy. Soon her words paint the conclusion. She looks around the room at every spectator hanging on to her every word. Drags out the end of the poem as if she's dreading having to conclude it. Dreading having to let it go. I watch as she moves from the stage and isolates herself from the rest of the crowd. Sits in a corner to herself and pulls a notebook from the bag sitting by her foot. I wondered if she's ever noticed me before – wondered if she even notices anyone when she isn't performing.

"Put your hands together for Maura." No last name. No pet name – just Maura. A name that was given to me by my birth parents. I thanked the announcer and the crowd. Sat on the stool in front of the piano and began to play.

My fingers gently kiss the piano keys; the felt hammers rebounds allowing the strings to vibrate at their resonant frequency. Sheet notes nowhere in site – simply played what I felt at the time. My eyes closed, body swayed, the orchestrated sound slams against the wall bouncing back filling the room. My mind composed – fingers performed. Long fingers tapped delicately, trying to match each note that dashed about in my head. I silently thanked my mother for keeping me musically grounded. Musically, I paint pictures with each chord passionately stroking each key as if it were a paint brush. Wish I could sing – that melodious voice seems fitting for the moment. Instead I hum to myself as my imagination grabs hold of me. I picture a sultry voice singing softly into the microphone – a beautiful woman serenading the crowd. Alluring men and women alike.

I opened my eyes and look at the couples dancing. Glance in the back at Jane, she's watching me, scrutinizing me even. I give her the same intense stare – her gaze never wavered. Never took her eyes from mine until the music slows, chords wailing its last note. The sensuality between fingers and keys no longer present; humming comes to a screeching halt. I stand, thank the crowd, and make my way off stage.

Ordered a drink from the bar and try to find the courage to approach her. Trying to find the words to say to her. Instead I sit off to the side watching as the dark pigmented liquid splattered on the white notebook paper, staining it with the poetic diction that dashed about in her head. She gnaws at her bottom lip as each potent syllable decorated the paper; the intent stare gave way to the concentration she gave to the piece before her. Papers filled with rage, love, life, and bliss scattered throughout the black and white composition book. She taps the pen against the notebook, ran her tongue across her lips, and jotted down more gibberish that ultimately became something she loved. Words that sometimes gave her a standing ovation in this very place. Sometimes she didn't get the feedback she anticipated but, that didn't stop her from writing. It encouraged her to go home – sit and think up better ways to put her words together so that they flowed smoothly. At least, that is the way I imagine it.

Gathering enough intrepidity I stepped to her. I was going to speak – I promise I was but, I didn't. Couldn't. Wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. Tell her how her poetry captivated me and takes me to a heavenly place every Thursday. No matter the subject be it blissful or hateful. Love or lust – but, I wouldn't. Just stood a couple feet away watching her pen collide with the paper. Envy the sensuality she has for the instrument. Wonder if she's as sensual with her lovers as she is with her writing.

"Are you going to say something or are you going to keep staring at me?" She said just as I turned to walk away. It caught me off guard – with the way she was so focused in her writing I didn't even think she'd notice me. "I mean since you've already messed up my flow." She smiles innocently.

"I'm sorry didn't mean to disturb you."

Placing her pen on the table she smiled and waved me over to sit down. "I'm sure it wasn't intentional… oh and I loved your performance. It was so passionate and raw… like you were born in front of a piano."

"Thank you." That made me smile – blush even. I didn't blush often. I wanted to tell her that she had a way with words – her skills were indescribable but, it seemed as if my voice had been snatched away from me.

"Cute."

"What?"

She smiled, showcasing white perfectly aligned teeth. "Your dimples. I've always found dimples sexy." I felt like a teenager again – experiencing my first crush. I haven't felt like this in a very long time. My palms were moist with perspiration and my heart pounded violently in my chest. "So what's your name?"

"Maura..."

Jane nods, reaches her hand out to shake mine. "Jane." I grabbed her hand. Small and soft. I knew her name already, had known for some time. Didn't want to tell her that though because she'd think I was some type of stalker. Probably pack her things up and get the hell out of dodge. Truthfully, I would blame her - would encourage her even. "You come here often? I've never seen you around."

"I come here when I can which isn't a lot. Play something on the piano from time to time. Usually come just to check out the talent."

"What do you do?"

Her curiosity about me now peaked. "I'm an aspiring writing… I dabble in a little painting. Teach literature at the local community college." A waitress passed by, asked if we needed anything. I said no she requested a bottle of water.

"And the music?"

"Just a hobby… not something I want to pursue. So what about you? How often do you come here?"

"Every so often when I have time. I don't get to come by as much as I'd like but, whatever." My eyes roamed over her face as she spoke. From her naturally arched eyebrows, small nose, and perfect full lips. The light tan hue of her skin is beautiful. Rich and flawless, free of any impurities that would diminish the beauty that made up her face. I even noticed the freckles scattered randomly on her face. Thirteen - okay so I counted.

"Where are you from? I mean… you have an accent that I can't quite place my finger on."

She smiles, face brightens even as she is suddenly in deep thought. "Texas... I'm originally from Texas. Moved to Boston when I was sixteen. I miss home though. What about you… where are you from?"

"Born and raised in Boston. Lived in London for a bit. Came back to the states a couple of years ago."

"Really how was London?"

"…it was okay I guess. It is what you make it. It's filled with so much history and culture. For that reason I had an amazing time... I'd like to think I made it pretty interesting." Our conversation continues to stay in the safe zone. Nothing personal just simple basic information. Information that I wanted to go way beyond. I wanted to pick her brain – find out what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. But, for now I settle for what she's willing to give me.

Glancing at her watch she begins to place her things inside of her bag. "Look, I gotta go. But, it was nice meeting you Maura – I hope I'll see you around here more often." With that she smiles picks up her things and leaves. I look on as she heads toward the door - wondering if I should go after her and exchange numbers. But, again, I shy away and hope that I will soon run into her.


End file.
